The Hybrid Cycle: Volume 1

8: In One Piece

Beatrice woke. It felt as if she had surfaced from a decade-long coma.

The room was flooded with sun. Gadilla sat on the edge of her bed holding a china teacup. She smiled at Beatrice like a friendly concierge.

"I hope you don't consider this an intrusion on your privacy, dear. Think of it more as a wellness check."

"It's okay", Beatrice replied. Her mind was raw with oversleep.

She sat up. It hurt, but she wasn't completely wracked with pain. Her head was a different story.

"When a guest doesn't leave her room for two days, an old biddy like myself gets worried. If it wasn't for your car, I'd have thought some hungry bear made a meal out of you at the Mill trail."

Beatrice laughed. There was nothing accusatory in Gadilla's tone – just the concern of an old widow who had likely seen her share of the bad stuff.

Two days, she thought. I've been unconscious for two days after my voyage into the Twilight Zone.

"Brought some tea. Not the fancy stuff they serve in Boston, but I do pride myself on serving it strong enough to wake the dead."

"Sounds like what I need", Beatrice said. She took the cup and sipped. Gadilla was right about the strength.

"Bea , I hope it's not the conceit of an old window talking, but I feel like I can address you in a straightforward way. In fact, I felt that when I first met you. I might seem like a worrisome hayseed, but my cold read is as sharp as any."

"Go on", Beatrice said.

"If I were delicate, I'd say you're not looking your best. I can say that because I saw you before. If I skipped over delicacy, I'd say you have the look of a woman who has been playing hopscotch in a minefield. You're laid up in your going-out clothes and you've been rough-handled something awful. That's taking into account you just woke up."

Silence. The women eyed each other, a peculiar sort of female telepathy passing between them.

Beatrice didn't feel the tears until her face was covered. Sobs shook her like a frightened animal. Gadilla took the saucer and held her.

Gentle. Warm. A parent nursing a playground mishap.

When it was over, she told Gadilla everything. The house. The shadow. Falling through the rotted floor and waking up in nightime darkness inside of her car. Even the dubious phantom rescuer.

Gadilla listened silently. She was still, save for the occasional nod or curious eyebrow raise. When the story was done, she looked thoughtful. Even the glass eye seemed immersed in thought.

"First off, you should have called the ambulance when you got back", Gadilla said. It didn't come off like a lecture, but a statement of fact. "You could be concussed."

"I realize that."

"I've seen and heard many things. I also believe in a lot of – phenomena, I guess the word is - that most people wouldn't. The part about you being carried is one of them.

The way I figure it, it's possible you stumbled back in a daze for several miles. It's also possible that you did it alert but blacked out in the car and forgot. But, to my thinking, it's equally possible that an angel carried you to safety. Angels do exist, you know, and they don't always look how you expect them to."

"An angel?"

"Yessir." She clapped at this and raised her right palm upward.  It looked like the gesture of a televanglist faith healer. "To those who don't believe, it sounds like a sack of foolishness. How else would you explain it? You either walked back, or someone – maybe something - brought you."

Beatrice considered that Gadilla was having a cloudy senior moment, but let it go. She was grateful for the old woman's presence and lack of judgment.

"I don't know what happened. I'm alive, but my camera and backpack are gone. So is my cellphone. I need some time to think."

"Of course you do. Sounds like you've been through a few blocks in the vicinity of Hell. The camera and backpack however, are the least of your worries. My humble recommendation is that you get yourself to the hospital in Harlan. Let them scan your head and bring you those travel-size Ginger-Ale cans."